[A short story by Mr. Ashmit Malik titled ‘Spring’.]
The spring-the season that always remind me of love, of sacrifice and most importantly, my sister, her prayers, her paperboats.
It was 8 springs ago that me and my sister used to create paperboats to sail in the nearby stream covered with meadows and beautiful flowers. We used to run with the boat in the field sometimes struggling to catch-up with the boats. I mean, we were kids after all. Two little girls who were sick from a chronic disease. It used to hurt really bad. Sometimes the coughing got so bad that I couldn’t speak for 2 days without pain. Our granny used to take care of us at the time. Giving us the ‘granny’s magical recipe’ type of soup. We used to make boats for each other from the craftpaper and exchange them. I would float her’s and she would float mine.
The only difference was I couldn’t make any. My sis used to teach me how to make one all the time but I never grasped it. She would help me make it and then float it herself considering it was mine. But it really wasn’t mine. Life was good, despite the chronic conditions of course. But one night I woke up to my granny rushing towards the other room where my sister was. Her health had gotten really bad. I was scared. I didn’t know how to help. I saw some craftpaper laying beside our table and tried to make that paperboat once again. Just like my sister had taught me.
I tried so hard folding each and every piece with care, precision, love, and hope and more importantly my prayer. With the last paper fold I had finally gotten it right.
Somewhat at least. I rushed to my sister to show it hoping she would get really happy and better and finally be proud of me.
But it was too late. I saw her still. No coughing. My granny crying beside her.
Now that I’ve grown up I kind of feel that those paperboats were a form of prayer my sister had for me. Those paperboats my sister had made for me saved my life.
And It still haunts me that I couldn’t do the same. Make a paperboat for her. Fill that paperboat with my prayers. I still have her stash of prayers in my drawer by the sofa.
So while all the flowers bloomed in the beautiful spring, the most lovely flower in our home withered.
But a piece of it remained. Me.
